


Blanketed

by got_the_bite



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Snow, Teen Wolf Christmas, sterek, worried!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:25:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/got_the_bite/pseuds/got_the_bite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stiles, where are you?” Derek demands again. His voice is higher than usual Stiles notes. </p><p>“You would be such a nice tenor if you joined a choir,” Stiles thinks aloud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blanketed

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Teen Wolf fanfic and the first time I'm posting on AO3. Needless to say I'm a little nervous. 
> 
> This fic was written for the TeenWolfChristmas challenge over on Tumblr and using the prompt Snow. (I'm a few days late posting this. Sorry!)
> 
> I would like to thank Dani for proofreading and encouraging me to continue this. Hope this gets you into the holiday spirit!!!

The first thing Stiles becomes aware of is that there’s something buzzing by his head. It’s loud and only gets louder as the fog of sleep leaves him which causes him to also realize that he has a headache. Probably due to lack of sleep at being woken up so early. With his eyes closed he blearily reaches for the intruding noise.

It feels like his phone.

It is.

Squinting in the lowlight he manages to hit the right button and puts the phone to his ear not bothering to roll off his side. He was always a fetal position sleeper. Didn’t that mean he was a caring individual or a sensitive person or something? He vaguely remembers reading a study on sleeping positions.

His neck hurts. He must have slept wrong.

“Mmm-ello?” His voice grates out. He’s always had a raspy voice but it’s particularly rough this early morning. Lack of sleep will do that to you.

“Stiles!” The voice shouts and reverberates in the phone’s speaker.

Stiles jerks a bit in surprise, waking up a bit more now that his ear drum was throbbing.

“Derek? What the hell?” he murmurs annoyed, snuggling back down.

“Where are you?” the voice demands.

“Sleeping, go away,” Stiles murmurs but doesn’t have the urge to hang up the phone just yet.

“Stiles, where are you?” Derek demands again. His voice is higher than usual Stiles notes.

“You would be such a nice tenor if you joined a choir,” Stiles thinks aloud.

“What?”

“You know ‘ _fa la la la la_ ’…I bet any church would take you.” He chuckles quietly. “I mean Christmas is right around the corner. We could even start our own.”

“Stiles…”

“Imagine you and Isaac and Scott going door to door in Santa hats and fuzzy scarves…howling at the moon with…eyes like… Christmas lights…”  
He begins to slur the last bit because imagining the intensity of the wolves’ eyes makes him lose focus. He shivers in his blanket. He must be really tired if he’s not able to tease Derek without a break. He tries to remember what he did that day but can’t.

“Stiles! Shut up and tell me where you are!”

He’s really slurring now and wishes that Derek would’ve just called in the daytime like normal people do.

Dumb werewolves being all nocturnal and shit.

“What? You don’t like the idea of… werewolf choirs? You said the bite was a gift…might as well thank Santa for it…or would it be Jesus?” This chuckle becomes a cough and he really hopes he’s not getting a cold right now. He’d hate to miss the first annual pack Christmas party that he was planning and no one else was interested in. He didn’t care. Pack bonding was important and they were going to bond, dammit!

“Stiles.” Stiles hears Derek taking a deep breath on the other line, obviously trying to fathom the idea that caroling might not be a stupid idea after all. Stiles feels a smile creep onto his face. “Just look around you and tell me what you see.”

“Derek? I’m home what are you talking…”

“Please, Stiles.”

Pulling his eyelids open was a chore. Why did Derek have to call and wake him up? He couldn’t wait until morning?

“I see white,” Stiles mumbles, closing his eyes tightly to sink back into the covers. “Like all under my blankets…because Mom tucked me in too tight…”

He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep again until he became aware that Derek was full out screaming on the phone.

“Stiles! **Stiles**! Shit!”

“You know I love that b-beautiful…t-t-tenor voice…” he whispers trying to stay quiet so his head would stop pounding. For some reason his jaw wasn’t working right either. His teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. He didn’t feel cold, so maybe it was his nerves. His subconscious was probably crazy nervous to be talking to his hunk of an alpha. He hoped Derek didn’t notice. “But could you…t-tone it down. Head h-hurts. Lack of s-s-sleep and all…”

A gush of breath sounds over the phone, like a sigh of relief. Stiles’ heart did a little leap at the thought of Derek being happy to hear him speak.

“Okay. Okay.” It sounds like Derek’s running or working out or doing something manly and strenuous. “Just don’t go quiet again. Talk to me, Stiles.”

“Aw…you wanna h-h-hear about my d-day?” Stiles laughs/coughs/teeth chatters again, this fit lasting longer than the last. “My b-big b-b-bad wolf does c-c-c-care.”

“Of course I do,” is Derek’s rough reply.

“That s-s-sounded almost…heartfelt.”

The only response is Derek’s huffing on the other line. He could imagine the light blush spreading on the young alpha’s stony face. He was always able to hold a solid expression through anything Stiles said or did, but it was that miniscule touch of pink that told the boy that he had gotten to him. In that moment he was all his.

He coughs louder than intended and feels the blanket around him growing heavier. The sound of Derek’s breathing and the content feeling of knowing he actually cared about his skinny human ass was lulling him back to sleep.

They’d have to have more of these g’night chats. Like they do in high school movies. He has the urge to say ‘no you hang up first,’ but finds that his brain won’t allow him to form these words because either:

a) He is too tired

or

b) That is a dumb thing to say to your maybe werewolf boyfriend.

He knows he should probably give Derek his full attention because over the rushing in his ears coupled with the teeth chattering, it sounds like he is yelling again, but he figures he’ll just call him in the morning.

* * *

 

The wrenching of metal screeches. The sound of footsteps crunch nearby.

It’s like he’s wrapped tight in cotton or smothered in packing peanuts or drifting in the salt and pepper static that shows up when the cable goes out.

Everything seems soft. Everything feels muffled. Well, if he could feel.

He can’t feel, but he knows he’s shaking.

The sounds are closer now he thinks because his eardrums seem to be working alright, but he’s not sure if he should trust them.

He opens one eye slowly.

Everything is so white.

But no…

Someone’s there. All dark and mysterious and he knows he should know them. He does know them. He does.

He tries to say something but it comes out muffled too. Mouth full of packing peanuts…

The someone he knows, he knows reaches out to him and rubs something off his face. Or he thinks he does.

Being wrapped in cotton and being all muffled makes it hard to feel things.

He blinks and some of the cotton around him is gone now.

It’s when the someone goes to unwrap the cotton from the rest of him that everything turns red. Clenching his eyes shut he realizes that feeling nothing isn’t as bad as feeling everything when everything hurts.

He’s shaking even harder now.

The someone is making sounds like the tv static at him and he realizes that his muffled sounds had been formed into actual…whimpers? He was whimpering??

Why was the someone in black unwrapping him? The white was so much better than the red.

Sounds like a joke. He knew he likes jokes and wants to laugh because this one was funny.

‘ _What’s black and white and red all over?_ ’

But he can’t remember the punch line because there’s too much red right now and it’s not funny at all.

Red hurts.

White muffles.

Black…what is black doing?

The unwrapping is bringing back feelings and he feels himself shifting and red lashes out again.

“Don’t…” When did he have time to chew glass? His teeth clench tightly together as his body continues to shiver.

The someone in black says something that gets lost in the discarded cotton and packing peanuts as he lifts him.

Then there are too many red sounds and too few white muffles to help him remain with the dark someone he knows, he knows.

* * *

 

-One Week Later-

Stiles sits on the Stilinski family sofa directing his father and Scott as to where the ornaments go on the tree. The stitches on the left side of his face pull as he smiles watching Scott nearly tip the tree over trying to get the star on top. His leg is propped up on the ottoman in a well of pillows, the cast preventing him from actually helping. Facilitating the work is almost better in his opinion.

“No, Scott, your left,” Stiles says taking the final gulp of his hot chocolate with the fifteen mini marshmallows. Scott takes the final ornament, a mini snowman, off the branch he’d originally hung on and moves it over into the bare spot Stiles had planned for it. “You’re learning young padawan. One day you may even surpass the master…in tree decorating.”

His dad rolls his eyes from where he is on the ground plugging in the lights. The multicolor strands illuminate the Stilinski picture window and the trio take a moment to look at their work.

“Well I better get going,” Scott says breaking the silence. “Mom will be home from work soon and it’s Christmas Eve and all…”

“Well thanks for all the help,” the Sheriff says clapping him on the back. “It would’ve taken me forever without the extra hands and having to decipher that one’s instructions.” He jabs a thumb over in Stiles’ direction before starting to pack up the empty boxes.

“Hey!”

With a chuckle Scott picks his backpack up off the floor near the couch. “I’ll stop by tomorrow to see if you need any help unwrapping presents or anything.”

“You’re just hoping Santa’s going to bring me a mountain bike or rollerblades or something I can’t play with!” Stiles complains gesturing to his leg.

Scott laughs and looks like he wants to say something but freezes and looks over his shoulder. He sniffs.

Stiles quirks an eyebrow knowing very well that that sniff is a werewolf sniff (it’s not like his best friend is ever subtle or anything) but Scott just half smiles.

“See you tomorrow!” he shouts as he heads for the front door.

“Drive safe!” the Sheriff shouts over his shoulder but continues to pack up the empty storage containers.

It had been a week since Stiles had flipped his Jeep during the first major snow of the season. He was on his way to set up the pack Christmas party he had planned at Derek’s train depot when he hit a patch of black ice and skid off the road. His baby had done a complete 360 before falling to land on the driver’s side. All the side windows had smashed letting the thick wet snow into the compartment, coating Stiles. He’d been missing for nearly two hours. Being inside the car kept Stiles safe from the wind but the snow caused him to suffer from a severe case of hypothermia. He’d snuck a peek at his chart at the hospital and saw that his core body temperature was 87degrees when he’d arrived. That coupled with a broken tibia, two cracked ribs, and a head injury laid him up for a good 5 days in the hospital.

Stiles vaguely remembered the phone conversation he had had with Derek. He knew he talked to him and knew he rambled and knew that Derek was annoyed with him but that was like a weekly thing between them.

It had been Scott who filled him in. Stiles had been nearly an hour late when Derek thought something was up. He had been the one advocating they have that dumb Christmas party in the first place. The way Stiles had failed to pick up the phone the first two times and the slurred way he was talking caused Derek to (Scott used the word) worry. He had to find him by scent and the sound of his heartbeat because the Jeep was completely hidden under a blanket of the snow in a ditch by the time Derek got to him.

“You want any more marshmallows?” his dad asks gathering the empty boxes in his arms.

Stiles clears his throat. “Nope. All done actually, dad, thanks.”

The Sheriff looks thoughtful at him but doesn’t pry. Stiles remembers the look on his face when he woke up for the first time after the accident. He hated himself for putting that look on his dad’s face.

“Alright. I’m bringing these down to the basement. When I get back I’ll start up the Peanut’s Christmas special.”

“Sounds good.” Stiles sets a smile on his face but lets it go when he hears his dad’s footsteps fade.

Stiles didn’t like thinking about how Derek found him. How Derek’s face must’ve looked.

How he must’ve looked.

Blanketed in snow.

Scott admitted that when he first got to the hospital to wait with his father that he heard how strange Stiles’ heartbeat had been. The cold had slowed it down and made it irregular. Scott described it as “weird” and “painful to listen to.”

Stiles sighs looking into his empty mug. Derek had been to visit once while he was in the hospital…or so he’d been told. He was unconscious at the time. Maybe his heartbeat scared him away, or the blue lips, or the corpselike pale skin…

There was a knock on the front door. Quiet…hesitant almost.

Knowing his father wouldn’t hear him from the crawl space in the basement, Stiles carefully lowers his leg to the floor and, with the use of his trusty crutches, maneuvers himself to a standing position. Limping to the door he figures Scott left his phone or his keys or his brain…because he was always leaving something behind at the Stilinski house.

“Seriously, dude? Am I going to have to super glue your phone to your…oh.” He falters. “Hey, Derek.”

“Hey.”

The alpha is standing on his porch in his patented leather jacket but seems to be missing his stony demeanor. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets and his shoulders are slumped. He looks…awkward?

“So…” Stiles starts to say something. He’s looking for the words but not knowing how to come out and say ‘thanks for saving my life again, because dying in a ditch would’ve been anticlimactic after surviving that kanima attack and stuff…’ but Derek beats him to it.

“I was nearby and saw your lights on and just wanted to see how you were.”

“You came to the front door,” Stiles notes.

“Well, your lights weren’t on. I mean in your bedroom. And I figured you might be avoiding stairs but the lights downstairs were on so I knocked instead.”

Oh god. Was Derek actually rambling??? Did he turn big bad alpha Derek Hale into a rambler??

“It’s ok. You can use the front door like a normal person. I mean you’re not a convict anymore so dad should be cool with it.”

Derek lets out a sigh.

“Well, you seem fine so I better go.” He huffs out and turns as if attempting to escape.

“Wait! You should come in.”

Derek stops and halfway turns back to the light from the doorway.

“I probably shouldn’t…”

“Why not? I have hot chocolate and marshmallows and the Charlie Brown Christmas special.”

“I…”

“Stiles, who are you talking to?” the Sheriff’s voice appears from behind him.

“It’s just Derek, dad.” Stiles smiles not taking his eyes off of Derek for fear that he’d sneak away into the shadows. “He’s just checking up on me.”

When he was in the hospital a conversation had happened between the two that he had not been present for…being unconscious and all. The Sheriff appears in the doorway with a smile. It happens so fast but somehow ‘the big gruff wolf turned nervous puppy dog’ wound up inside helping his dad carry boxes to the basement. Stiles wishes he’d recorded the brief exchange between the two so he could take notes on how to ‘manipulate’ his alpha.

Stiles goes to get settled back on the couch when he notices that one box was left behind, nearly empty except for a few bright red Santa hats. With a gleeful noise he tugs one snuggly on his head and pulls two more out of the box. He manages to get situated again by the time his dad and Derek come back upstairs.

“Look what I found!” he calls out waving two hats in the air. With a chuckle his father puts one on without a word, as if knowing it was better not to argue with his son over holiday headgear.

“I’m going to make us all some more hot chocolate before the movie. In the Stilinski house we take our cocoa with fifteen mini marshmallows. Sound good?” he asks Derek who looks very out of place in the living room doorway.

“You really don’t have to. I should probably be…”

“Fifteen marshmallows it is,” his dad says walking into the kitchen, the little pompom on the end of the hat bouncing as he walked.

Derek continues to stand in the doorway, hands in his pockets, nervous look in place.

Stiles sighs. “Seriously? Calm down, dude. My dad’s not going to shoot you…not that it would do any lasting damage really. Just sit down,” he says patting the cushion next to him.

Without a word Derek sits quickly, looking at the floor. More silence. Stiles doesn’t like it.

It’s so apparent to him that it’s been a week since they’d spoken. Apparently it takes a week after a near death experience for talking to become awkward. C’mon, this is ridiculous…he should be able to speak to his savior… and maybe werewolf boyfriend.

“Thanks for finding me.” Stiles looks at Derek closely. There seems to be more stubble on that stony jaw than usual and he swears that there are circles under those icy eyes.

“Yea,” Derek mumbles. “Well…Thanks for talking my ear off. It made it easier to find you.”

Stiles smiles. “It’s what I’m good at. I swear rambling in a crisis is what I was made for.”

“For awhile though I didn’t think I was going to…”

“Welp…you did.”

“Yea.”

And the silence is back.

The clinking of mugs comes from the kitchen and Stiles begins to fiddle with the seams of the Santa hat.

“You’re going to ask me to wear that aren’t you,” Derek states more than asks, surprising Stiles that he was the one who broke the quiet.

Stiles laughs. “Is it obvious? I mean you are the only person in this house without one. Just trying to get you in the holiday spirit after all. I mean if you don’t have any holiday spirit Santa will _not_ be visiting you tonight, young man! I don’t want to be subjected to your whining at a lack of presents this year.”

Derek looks like he’s trying hard not to smile, but it isn’t working. Slowly a tiny ‘not grimace’ is appearing.

“And I’m providing you with hot chocolate and a Peanut’s special. I mean the least you can do is humor me, the poor cripple. Or if you wanted to really get in the holiday spirit you could help me hobble around with one of these crutches shouting ‘God bless us, everyone!’ but I figured that wearing the hat would suffice…”

“Fine! _Fine_ …” Derek grumbles taking the hat from Stile’s hands and smashing it down on his head. “But we’re not starting a pack choir, so don’t even ask.”

The subtle pink tint on the alphas cheeks stops Stiles’ retort.

Yup.

He knows that he’s still got him.


End file.
